Of Mice and Mounties
by Ebolafan
Summary: A shadow from Meg's past threatens her future with Fraser. MT BF Romance


Friday 10:00AM CST

The sunlight spilled across her office. Outside her window, RCMP Inspector Meg Thatcher gazed upon efforts of a bluejay to engineer a nest in the tree across the street. 'Life continues, the world renews itself', she thought. 'Why did this ugliness have to surface now?'

A polite knock at her office door went unacknowledged.

Constable Benton Fraser cautiously entered his superior's office, the daily reports in hand.

"Sir?" he inquired softly, watching the play of shadow and light across her figure, noting the piece of paper she held tightly.

"Thank you," she replied curtly at the sound of the reports hitting her in basket, declining to turn and face him, "and please inform Constable Turnbull to handle any unscheduled visitors today. I don't want to be disturbed."

"Understood. Is everything all right, sir?" he replied, hesitating in the doorway.

"_Dismissed_, Constable."

She waited until the sound of the door clicking shut told her that she was once again alone. She slowly let out the breath she had been holding.

'What am I going to do? I can't possibly do this, not now, I've come so far...' she pondered, the neatly handwritten letter still clenched in her hand.

* * *

"Constable Fraser, a moment of your time?"

Fraser looked up from his desk to see Constable Turnbull hovering in the doorway. '_If ignorance was bliss, then Constable Renfield Turnbull must spend his life in ecstasy_', Fraser once confided in his journal.

"Yes, Turnbull? What may I assist you with?"

"A Mr. Peter Stark would like to see the Inspector, but, well... you see, she said not to... you see, the problem is..."

Fraser cut him off with a sharp nod, mentally pausing to review the Inspector's schedule. "I don't seem to recall a meeting with a person by that name today."

Turnbull stammered, "But he is an attorney from Legal Affairs, he says it is important."

Fraser rose to his feet . "Return to your duties. I'll be happy to have a word with Mr. Stark."

Turnbull nodded his gratitude and set a quick pace back toward his desk, relieved to be out of an awkward situation.

Fraser crossed the hallway to the waiting room and was gratified to see that he and the visitor would be alone. "Mr. Stark? My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Deputy Liaison Officer. How may I be of assistance?" Fraser formally extended his hand to the whipcord thin man, and was surprised at the strength of his grip. Standing, he fairly towered over Fraser, blonde hair and depthless blue eyes completed the picture of the fastidious attorney.

"I was hoping to have a moment of Inspector Thatcher's time, Constable," he replied in a pleasant, yet clipped alto voice.

"The Inspector wishes to convey her regrets. Unfortunately, she has a full schedule for today, and as we were not aware of your visit ahead of time, I'm afraid that we will need to reschedule at a later date."

"Ah, yes. I see," he replied carefully.

Stark's brows creased in thought. Giving Benton Fraser a thorough looking over, he continued.

"I have just flown in from Ottawa, Constable, and I wonder if I might ask you a few questions?"

"I will be happy to provide whatever information that I can to assist you," Fraser answered. Luckily, the budget figures from last week's report were still fresh in his mind. Surely that was what was needed.

"How would you evaluate the leadership of this consulate?"

Seeing the look of consternation forming on Fraser's face, he quickly added, "purely for my own edification, Constable. None of this will be added to the record. I wanted to get a feel for what type of person the Inspector is."

Fraser indicated for Mr. Stark to take a seat, and asked if he might send for some refreshments. The visitor declined the offer of tea.

"Very well. I must admit, though, of all the full-time consulate staff, I have worked with her the least amount of time. I would be happy to answer any general questions which you may have." Fraser sat on the neighbouring armchair, turning his full attention to Mr. Stark.

The attorney pulled no punches.

"Really? I understand from RCMP Counsel Henri Cloutier that you've worked very closely with Margaret Thatcher," he mentioned nonchalantly, settling his briefcase at his feet.

Fraser carefully schooled any reaction from his features. "Inspector Thatcher has been my superior officer for the last four months. I find her to be an excellent administrator, and she has earned the respect of every member of her staff."

"Then you don't resent working _under_ a female superior?" he fired back, leaning closer to study the Constable's reaction.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I seem unable to provide you with the type of answers that you and RCMP Counsel Cloutier are looking for."

"At ease, Constable." Stark smiled, waiving Fraser back toward the chair. "I'm not acting on behalf of Henri Cloutier, in fact, I am here because I believe that your superior could be of great assistance in a case I have been assigned. Are you aware that Margaret Thatcher transferred here from the Legal Affairs Dept in Ottawa?"

"No, sir," Fraser hesitated a moment, sizing up the man next to him, and liking what he saw. This man possessed a quality of confidence. Fraser judged him a forthright man. He did not like to mislead people, but the information the Inspector had told him in confidence that night at his apartment about her previous assignment was personal, and he treasured the rare moments she took him into her confidence. He resumed his place on the armchair.

"I assumed that she had transferred from a field command, as I had." A field command where she had earned medals and commendations, just as he had. She had been so adamant about pointing out their similar backgrounds during the hostage incident on the train. So intense and beautiful, too proud to ask for his understanding, but accepting it gracefully when offered. Meg Thatcher and Henri Cloutier were worlds apart in leadership styles.

"She worked under Cloutier for eight months, Constable. Her insight into the business practices and personal conduct of Mr. Cloutier is what I have come here to secure. May I be frank with you, Constable Fraser?"

"Of course, sir." Fraser was becoming caught up in the man's intense stare, Stark's blue eyes never wavered in their conviction of what he saw as the absolute truth.

"A complaint was sworn out against Henri Cloutier by a civilian worker in the Legal Affairs Department. She alleges gross misconduct, sexual harassment, and unethical business dealings on the part of Cloutier and a few of his associates at the Trade Commission."

"I see," Fraser responded, listening intently.

"She also has made an allegation of sexual assault by Cloutier," the lawyer said quietly.

"And what does this have to do with Inspector Thatcher?" Fraser asked, a little too quickly. Meg would never have stayed there for so long if she had felt threatened, would she? That night at his apartment, he felt she was holding something back, something she would rather no one in this command know of. Fraser's mind raced with the possibilities.

Scenarios came unbidden to his mind's eye. Fraser remembered all too well his last and only occasion to meet Henri Cloutier. His treatment of Meg Thatcher crossed several lines of RCMP protocol , and he couldn't forget the rough way Cloutier gripped her arm the night at the restaurant. Meg had never mentioned it, but Fraser saw the bruises.

He was almost as relieved as she was when Cloutier boarded the plane back to Ottawa.

"It was known throughout the department that Inspector Thatcher sought the Chicago assignment to distance herself from Henri Cloutier. She may have witnessed some of the same types of transgressions as are alleged in this complaint. I have tried to contact her for the past week, Constable. I have not received a reply."

"Surely, if the incidents have been occurring over such a long time, there must be others who could corroborate this worker's testimony. Why is it so important that the Inspector become involved?" Fraser asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Yes, you are correct, Constable. There are others who are willing to come forward. Unfortunately, they are civilians. The only RCMP officer who would be able to testify is Margaret Thatcher," Stark finished slowly trying to gauge Fraser's reaction.

"And by having an officer who is willing to testify, a full hearing would have to be convened. I understand." Fraser nodded.

The attorney stood up, offering his hand to Fraser once more. "I thank you for your time, Constable Fraser, and I do appreciate the help you have given me." He bent down to retrieve his briefcase from the floor, and withdrew a rather thick file from the side pocket.

"Not at all, Mr. Stark. If there is anything else I could do to help you..." Fraser trailed off as the attorney handed the file to him.

"Please present this to the Inspector for me. It is a copy of the charges, and a transcript of the preliminary hearing filed with the RCMP Inspector General in Ottawa. It may help her come to a decision. You might find it enlightening, as well."

"Thank you, sir. I will ring for a cab." Fraser walked toward his office, file tucked firmly under his arm. The voice of Meg Thatcher played back in his mind as she told him that '_if he ever had the urge to help her, do her a favour and resist it'_. Ironically, she made that request of him during Cloutier's visit.

* * *

12:30 PM CST FRIDAY

Fraser sighed. It was a typical Friday afternoon at the Consulate. Ovitz had sequestered himself in the file room, doing what was anyone's guess as Fraser routinely filed both his own and the Inspector's paperwork himself. Turnbull covered the phones, and Fraser processed visa applications for perspective residents and students.

Inspector Thatcher remained conspicuous by her silence, not even looking up from the immigration statistics file on her desk when Fraser delivered her usual Friday lunch, tuna salad on sourdough, no relish, iced tea and artificial sweetener. He made it a point to order and pick up her lunch personally on Fridays. Benton remembered the one time Turnbull had ordered her a turkey sandwich.

The Consulate staff had been working frantically to beat the filing deadline for the quarterly budget requests. The Inspector was none too pleased about the mix-up. She had fed the sandwich to Diefenbaker in a rare moment of weakness, and had forgone eating until the paperwork was completed and on its way to Toronto. Only then could she leave for the night.

Sensing Fraser's puzzlement, Ovitz commented that Turnbull had forgotten the Inspector was Catholic. Fraser remembered that the Vecchios observed the Catholic dictate of no meat on Fridays. The Inspector obviously did, too. He made sure that her lunch orders were correct each Friday. It was just one more way to serve the person whom he respected, and at times, even lov-- _admired_.

As Fraser stamped _yet another_ student's request to attend classes at McMaster University in Hamilton, his attention drifted back to the file left by Mr. Stark. It had been sitting in his in-basket all morning. If he kept busy enough, he could pretend it was just another request, something quite ordinary, easy to rubber-stamp and pass on.

Sighing, he set aside the application and reached for the file. Ignoring it wouldn't make the situation, or his guilt at becoming involved, go away. After all, he reasoned, it _is_ part of my duties to review all non-confidential materials submitted to the Consulate. There wasn't even a "personal" stamp on the file jacket. It was no use, he had to know how bad the situation would likely turn out to be. Apparently, the Inspector had no intention of cooperating with the organisation of a formal inquiry. It was not like her to ignore correspondence. He doubted her refusal would end the matter.

He resolved not to regret the phone call he had put into Inspector General Charles Bouverie this afternoon asking for information on Cloutier. Charlie had been a good friend and mentor to his father. He had interceded when Girard tried to block Ben's transfer to Chicago to investigate his father's death.

Fraser still remembered the man's parting advice on the street as they watched Girard exit the courthouse. He had advised Benton to accept the position in Chicago, and find a sense of peace in serving his country the best way that he could. Well, it was either Chicago or Russia, and come what may, Charlie would keep an eye on him. He owed it to Robert Fraser.

A flash of movement from the hallway caught his attention. He caught a glimpse of Meg, holding a glass of iced tea from the kitchenette, as she walked toward the communications room. He heard her insert the key into the lock, and enter the secure room. Fraser heard her gasp, followed by the sound of the glass shattering on the floor. He sprung from the chair.

He found her frozen, eyes fixed on the fax in her hand, unaware of his presence. In seconds, his wide strides placed him at her side.

Meg Thatcher looked up to see impossibly blue eyes locked on hers.

"Are you hurt?" he said gently, reaching down to touch her forearm, his soft touch attracted her attention.

"What?" was Meg's bewildered response. She looked at Ben as if she had absolutely no idea what her eccentric Deputy Liaison Officer was talking about until she glanced down to see a puddle of tea spreading across the floor.

"Oh, dear... I didn't mean to, I didn't realise that I had dropped..." Meg sounded eerily disconnected, as though she really didn't register what was happening. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'll get something to clean this up with."

'She's in shock,' he realised, noting her rapid breathing, and unfocussed stare.

"There's no need for that, Ma'am, why don't we go back to your office, and I'll take care of this later." His persuasive voice and steady inching toward the door had their desired effect. She followed him out into the hallway and they headed for her office.

The fax lay where it had fallen from her suddenly nerveless hands floating on the surface of the puddle. The paper slowly became saturated with the tea, almost obscuring the lines of text that informed the Superior Officer of the Chicago Consulate to expect a visit from RCMP Counsel, Henri Cloutier.


End file.
